Seisiún: Anne O’Donoghue, Irish
Country Living journalist
I haven’t a note in my head, and that’s a fact. But fortunately I have an ensemble cast of first cousins who sing and play music very well. Every Christmas night we congregate in my aunt’s house in time for the Wren Boys who come on 25 December – as well as St Stephen’s Day in parts of west Limerick. After they have the crowd warmed up, guitars, concertinas and fiddles are produced in the kitchen and our annual Christmas concert begins. Everyone usually is called on to do a bit of a party piece, whether it’s singing, playing or even the odd recitation. I have been known to attempt to dance a set from time to time, despite my total lack of coordination.
Sleigh ride: Hannah Quinn-Mulligan, news correspondent
We’re big fans of tradition in my family and we’ve always had a pony and trap to take on weekend drives, my granny says it reminds her of going to the creamery with her father when she was young. Every year we bedeck Kitty, the cart pony, with tinsel, bells and a set of reindeer ears for a spin on Christmas Day to give the neighbours something to talk about. In the absence of a sleigh ride, we’ve converted our pony and trap into the next best thing.
Hannah Quinn-Mulligan and her granny Catherine Quinn, with Kitty the cart pony as Rudolph on Christmas day.
Cards: Anthony Jordan
I tell you what I won’t be doing this Christmas. Playing cards. It’s family tradition in my cousins’ house in Bohola every Christmas night that a compulsory game of 25 is played, accompanied by leftover turkey sandwiches and hot whiskeys, or perhaps if your father doesn’t give out too much, a can of cider. Each game is worth €2 and is made up of eight players, mostly consisting of a few uncles, aunties and one or two first cousins. It can last well into the early hours. Anyway, two years ago a family brawl nearly ensued over me reneging in one of the games (too long to explain). Since then I have only eaten the sandwiches and let everybody else play the cards. The fact that no subsequent arguments have broken out would leave me to believe it was my fault.
Christmas run: Maria Moynihan,
features editor
No doubt I will be over-indulging in the Roses (and musicals) over Christmas, but my friends and I always put aside a day for a festive stroll in Glenteenassig Forest Park, close to Castlegregory in Co Kerry, with lunch afterwards in Camp. Staying active (ish), on New Year’s Eve, I plan to take part in the 5k/10k in my home town of Tralee, with my club mates from Born To Run marathon club. I will never be the fastest runner, but it keeps me healthy, happy and connected with my community, so it will be nice to see 2018 out with a trot around town… though with more Roses straight after to replace the lost carbs.
30 seconds: Ciara Leahy, consumer editor
“It’s where the doll sits, it’s where the doll sits,” shouted my mother-in-law animatedly at my husband on Christmas Eve a few years ago. “The dollhouse, the dollhouse,” he shouted in reply. “Mam, where else would the doll sit?” It turns out she was actually shouting; “Where the Dáil sits,” to try and prompt her son to say Leinster House. And therein lies the beauty of 30 Seconds. It’s the excitement to try and explain the words on your card as quickly as possible, the thrill of getting the answer right and the hilarity when your competitors struggle in the same way you did just a few minutes earlier. Of course, my favourite card is the one that holds the three important words Irish Farmers Journal. “It’s where I work, it’s where I work.” A guaranteed point.
30 seconds
Turkey tales: William Conlon, buildings reporter
Like many Irish families the biggest tradition in our house is the inevitable argument over slow-cooking a 16-pound turkey for about 14 hours, starting on Christmas Eve. The turkey goes in before the weekly trip to mass for some (or the annual trip for others), and so starts the battle to keep a consistent temperature in the turf-powered Stanley range to make sure the turkey isn’t undercooked or burnt. Why we don’t just use the electric oven I haven’t quite figured out, but it’s always been done this way, so who am I to try and break the tradition? When it comes to Christmas morning my tactic has evolved to go out feeding the cattle in the morning, only reappearing when the dinner is hitting the plates to avoid the drama of getting everything spot on for what is the All-Ireland final of dinners.
Read more
Listen: Forgotten Christmas traditions
Damien's Diary: Christmas past in Ballyjamesduff
Seisiún: Anne O’Donoghue, Irish
Country Living journalist
I haven’t a note in my head, and that’s a fact. But fortunately I have an ensemble cast of first cousins who sing and play music very well. Every Christmas night we congregate in my aunt’s house in time for the Wren Boys who come on 25 December – as well as St Stephen’s Day in parts of west Limerick. After they have the crowd warmed up, guitars, concertinas and fiddles are produced in the kitchen and our annual Christmas concert begins. Everyone usually is called on to do a bit of a party piece, whether it’s singing, playing or even the odd recitation. I have been known to attempt to dance a set from time to time, despite my total lack of coordination.
Sleigh ride: Hannah Quinn-Mulligan, news correspondent
We’re big fans of tradition in my family and we’ve always had a pony and trap to take on weekend drives, my granny says it reminds her of going to the creamery with her father when she was young. Every year we bedeck Kitty, the cart pony, with tinsel, bells and a set of reindeer ears for a spin on Christmas Day to give the neighbours something to talk about. In the absence of a sleigh ride, we’ve converted our pony and trap into the next best thing.
Hannah Quinn-Mulligan and her granny Catherine Quinn, with Kitty the cart pony as Rudolph on Christmas day.
Cards: Anthony Jordan
I tell you what I won’t be doing this Christmas. Playing cards. It’s family tradition in my cousins’ house in Bohola every Christmas night that a compulsory game of 25 is played, accompanied by leftover turkey sandwiches and hot whiskeys, or perhaps if your father doesn’t give out too much, a can of cider. Each game is worth €2 and is made up of eight players, mostly consisting of a few uncles, aunties and one or two first cousins. It can last well into the early hours. Anyway, two years ago a family brawl nearly ensued over me reneging in one of the games (too long to explain). Since then I have only eaten the sandwiches and let everybody else play the cards. The fact that no subsequent arguments have broken out would leave me to believe it was my fault.
Christmas run: Maria Moynihan,
features editor
No doubt I will be over-indulging in the Roses (and musicals) over Christmas, but my friends and I always put aside a day for a festive stroll in Glenteenassig Forest Park, close to Castlegregory in Co Kerry, with lunch afterwards in Camp. Staying active (ish), on New Year’s Eve, I plan to take part in the 5k/10k in my home town of Tralee, with my club mates from Born To Run marathon club. I will never be the fastest runner, but it keeps me healthy, happy and connected with my community, so it will be nice to see 2018 out with a trot around town… though with more Roses straight after to replace the lost carbs.
30 seconds: Ciara Leahy, consumer editor
“It’s where the doll sits, it’s where the doll sits,” shouted my mother-in-law animatedly at my husband on Christmas Eve a few years ago. “The dollhouse, the dollhouse,” he shouted in reply. “Mam, where else would the doll sit?” It turns out she was actually shouting; “Where the Dáil sits,” to try and prompt her son to say Leinster House. And therein lies the beauty of 30 Seconds. It’s the excitement to try and explain the words on your card as quickly as possible, the thrill of getting the answer right and the hilarity when your competitors struggle in the same way you did just a few minutes earlier. Of course, my favourite card is the one that holds the three important words Irish Farmers Journal. “It’s where I work, it’s where I work.” A guaranteed point.
30 seconds
Turkey tales: William Conlon, buildings reporter
Like many Irish families the biggest tradition in our house is the inevitable argument over slow-cooking a 16-pound turkey for about 14 hours, starting on Christmas Eve. The turkey goes in before the weekly trip to mass for some (or the annual trip for others), and so starts the battle to keep a consistent temperature in the turf-powered Stanley range to make sure the turkey isn’t undercooked or burnt. Why we don’t just use the electric oven I haven’t quite figured out, but it’s always been done this way, so who am I to try and break the tradition? When it comes to Christmas morning my tactic has evolved to go out feeding the cattle in the morning, only reappearing when the dinner is hitting the plates to avoid the drama of getting everything spot on for what is the All-Ireland final of dinners.
Read more
Listen: Forgotten Christmas traditions
Damien's Diary: Christmas past in Ballyjamesduff
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